Mannequines
by Melfina Lupin
Summary: A sequel to Dolls by popular demand. Roger helps aid Dorothy in her quests for her own humanity but get more than he bargined for! *chapter 3 is up*
1. Default Chapter

  
  
Mannequins ~ By Fujin  
  
Sequel to Dolls  
  
  
He placed the books in front of her. A dozen or so books with dark covers and many pages, some where white, some as yellow as sunflower petals. Some books seemed brand new to her but most look as if they hadn't seen the light of day in a long time. The older ones had water stains ruining their thick covers and smelled of musk and dust. Dorothy looks at them as though they were bugs, impassive, as they laid under her slender nose on the polished tabletop. One finely arched eyebrow was raised, her nose scrunched up from the horrible odor. Her hands ached to push the disturbing books far away from her. But with her composure remaining as nonchalant as ever, she slowly raised her eyes to shoot a questioning gaze up at the tall man whom loomed over him. There was a look in his eyes that caught her uncertainty.  
  
"What are those for, Roger?" she asked. Her voice was as dull as dry clay; monotone and lifeless like always.  
  
The dark clad negotiator only shrugged at her before he moved away from her. He left the books behind. "They are just some works I want you to go through," he told her. He took his seat at the opposite end of the dinning table, his face as calm as ever like his command was not something out of the blue. Dorothy tried to keep the confusion away from her face, though she doubted that he face would ever bend to the expression. "You might find them beneficial."  
  
Dorothy kept her dark eyes on him for several more moments. A feeling of suspicion was slowly crawling into her mechanical senses.  
  
"Oh," she replied. "Are you assigning me homework now?"  
  
Roger briefly glanced at her, unamused. Then he shrugged again-a movement that Dorothy soon grew to hate-before turning his attention to the plate of food that Norman had placed before him. "Think what you would like, Ms Waynright," he told her, fingers curving around his silver fork. "I want you to look through those books. Maybe you will like them."  
  
"I have no doubt in mind that I won't," Dorothy shot back sarcastically.   
  
She missed Roger's frowning glare when she had already lowered her eyes to the neglected books before her. Her plate lay beside them, just as ignored. But all too soon her hands were on them, spreading them out to see what they were. Many of them looked to be books of science and works of the human body. One was completely dedicated to the human voice, one to the workings of the facial expression, and one to the fascinating discoveries of the eyes and all that it could reveal about the human soul. There were many more about her, some on the same subjects but giving different theories and opinions.  
  
For a moment she became frightened and a little nervous, or at lest this would be the time she would become so. The reactions seemed appropriate enough. Had he seen her play with the dolls in the attic last night or was this just merely the answer to al her problems as an android trying to act human? She didn't know which one had triggered Roger's unexpected gifts but she did perceive that the books would be better than trying tirelessly to mimic Roger like a lost monkey in her quest to obtain more human movements.  
  
A sudden thought hit her suddenly, making her fingers crawl away from the hard covers and musty pages. Her movements were slow as if she had just touched blood and didn't know what to make of it. She glanced at her hands, seeming to tremble a little as she held them palm up in her lap. Roger watched this, his eyes questioning.  
  
"Dorothy?"  
  
"I thought this city had rid its self of books, Roger," she told him. "I never really put much thought into it last night when I cleaned the attic. Isn't it nefarious to keep books that would trigger one's memory?"  
  
Roger seemed to understand her question. He placed his fork down next to his plate and, resting his elbows upon the table, looked at her with his eyes appearing above the point his fingers made. "Dorothy, it is not nefarious for you to read them," he told her after a moment. "You have no memories of your past life so these books will not trigger any. Do you understand?"  
  
Dorothy was slow to come around. For a moment she looked as if she was processing what Roger had said and for that time he grew apprehensive. What if she had changed her mind about them? But his fears were put aside when he saw her nod her crimson head and push back her chair. Stooping over the table she gathered the books into her arms.  
  
"I will begin reading them tonight," she told him. "Good night."  
  
"Good night, Dorothy," Roger replied. He watched she turn to leave the dining room under his eyelashes. Her voices seemed as monotone as ever but he thought that her pace had picked up a bit. Was she in a hurry? If it had, Roger couldn't have been more proud of her.  
  
A movement at his side caught his attention. He looked sideways, meeting the face of his butler looming over him.  
  
"What is it, Norman?"  
  
Norman seemed troubled. "It is nothing, sir," he murmured at first. "Do you think it was wise of you to give those books to Dorothy. She might not understand them and perceive them the wrong way."  
  
Roger nodded, smiling a little. "If she could perceive the workings of Lord McCabey, she can understand anything she wants too. Just give her time. This is what she wants-to be more human. And reading up on the subject is probably better than mimicking our movements."  
  
Norman won't argue. Long ago he had come to realize Roger's streak of stubbornness. He would not admit to doing wrong until wrong crossed his path. So with a sigh, Norman gave up the battle. "Yes, Roger. I see. Forgive me for my questions. I have stepped over the boundary."  
  
"It's all right. But you have to admit, seeing Dorothy become her own person is something we can't deny her."  
  
"Yes, Roger."   
  
  
  
*~*~*~*~*  
  
  
  
Darkness had fallen over the city. The moonlight poured into her room from her open window and flowed upon her figure as she sat on her bed, legs crossed and reading a book. Several laid before her and several laid to her side. The ones before her she had all ready completed reading them while her brain still fused with their unlimited knowledge of human nature. Enlightenment ideas philosophers of old would say. Even so late in the night, her mind ran wild with thesises and issues she had never thought of before and never imaged she would think. Never had she wanted to be more human than now-to react and have all the emotions the books praised. She seemed to be a dry sponge drinking in the intoxicating pools of wisdom.   
  
But all too soon Dorothy yawned and stretched. Was she actually sleepy? She had the urge to laugh aloud to no one in particular out of pure amusement as she removed the heavy book from her lap and stretched her numb legs. Since when had she ever wanted to laugh? Certainly not any time she had stayed here with Norman and Roger. Where those books getting to her? She sighed as she rubbed her eyes. What was it that she felt? Was it fatigue? If she were tired she knew no matter how tired she felt she still would remain as enthusiastic about the world about her as ever, eager and willing to put to the test all she had learned just this night. Still she needed a good night's sleep for the next morning.   
  
Removing the books from her bed, she suddenly relished in the newfound softness of the black covers, over the firmness of the mattress. Why had she never realized these things before? They were complete heaven! Slowly, as if they were nothing but a sleeping serpent, she ran her slender fingers over her quilt. She at once decided that she liked the glossy texture of the silk run across her cold skin. Then she touched her pillows next, pressing down on them. They were as malleable as clouds! She fell onto her bed when the books were on the floor, feeling her body bounce twice before settling. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Was this like being human? She thought it was pretty close.  
  
She sighed as she placed her head onto the pillow, her hands resting at her sides while her fingers continued to stroke the silk covers beneath her. She knew she ought to sleep but all to soon she was sitting up again, now more determined to observe her surroundings more closely than even before. Eyes roaming around her dark room and fingers timidly ardent to touch things, she felt like a child marveling at the wonders of a new world that lay before her like magic. She crawled off her bed and walked to her closet, the dark fabric of her day dress swaying silently around her shins. She opened the wooden doors and retrieved her long nightgown. It was black as usual and the paleness of her fingers made the black even darker as she held it before her.  
  
She frowned. Was dose Roger insists on only black clothing? It's so gloomy. We are not mourners at a funeral. She slowly touched it, running her fingers down the front of it. At least it was as soft as the covers on her bed.  
  
With a little sigh she threw of her day dress, slipped out of her shoes and stocking and pulled the nightgown over her head, and down her slender body. For a moment she suddenly felt proud of her figure. Why won't she? She was a model of perfection-slender, long graceful legs, pretty face, snow-white skin, short crimson hair. She thought she might call herself beautiful. When she saw herself in the mirror hanging on the closet's door she found herself drawn to it automatically. Studying it intently, Dorothy ran her hands through her hair, touched her pale cheeks, and traced the bridge of her slender nose. This was the first time she had ever cared for her appearance and it was also the first time she actually smiled. A smile meant only for her, an experiment to see how it looked on her pale red lips. It seemed awkward at first, as her fingers run over her stretched lips, but with a little practice if felt normal and uplifting. Why had Roger never smiled?  
  
She tenderly stroked the mirror; its cool surface remained her of her dinner plate, so smooth but certainly more reflective! Still smiling a little she quietly closed the doors of her wooden closet and slowly treaded back towards her bed. On bare feet she giggled softly as it tickled her feet and in between her toes. Seduced by the pleasant itch under her small feet she slowly spun around in circles, her arms wide open as her hair brushed against her cheeks by the cool turrets of air that turned about her like a invisible waltz partner.  
  
With an exhausted laugh he all but feel onto her bed, breathing heavy and worn out. She laughed a little at the range of strong emotions that ran through her body then as if slapped in the face by reality she began worried. Petrified at the sudden change of her own self. Why had she changed all of a sudden? What had brought these sort of changes? The books weren't a reliable source. She had just read them this night! Surely she wasn't that fast to adapt to new ideas. Her new life with Roger took weeks for her to adjust let alone one evening.   
  
What had made this time so different? Why was she experiencing so many new things in one night? For the first time in her life Dorothy felt confused. Why was she feeling this way? Was there something wrong with her? And if so, what? How can there be something wrong with her? She felt perfect.  
  
She thought that her room would answer her questions. With ebony eyes on the verge of sleepless worry she glanced about her bedroom. Like many other rooms it was dark and gloomy. If this night would have been normal for her she would not care for the dismal aura the four walls gave off, but tonight it disturbed her. It was so dark it was as if she were in a coffin. She had to shiver involuntarily at that thought. So this is what it means to lay dead in a coffin, all darkness and gloom surrounding you with nothing but your stillborn limbs as your sole source for comfort and company. Roger should really let some color creep into his house now and then. Did it upset him to have so much black in his home?  
  
Her eyes feel onto the painting above her empty fireplace. A gist from Roger it was, so to speak. Weeks ago he had painted that when he was working with an odd case. She thought it was a horrid thing but she couldn't tell him that straight out and give the picture back to him. So she had to suffer silently under the watch of that ugly picture. Save a splash of white paint for her skin and hideous smudges of red paint for her hair, it didn't even look like her. Roger really wasn't a very good artist. In fact she thought he made a pretty pathetic one. She could tell the day he stared to paint that thing that her impression was right but she didn't have the heart to burn his dream.  
  
Yes, Roger did have a dream to paint something. She couldn't deny that and he hadn't tried to deny her dream of becoming more human. The facts are that he willingly supported her by providing her with those books of science so that she might have a concept on how humans acted. Yes, that was her dream. She couldn't run away from it, no matter how frightening she knew the transformation might be. She had to stick to it until her dream came true. Long ago she set out to find within her the power to become human and now that she was about to discover it, she couldn't give up her dream so easily. That's want would give her the strength to keep going. She had to become human or else be a robot the rest of her life, a plain shadow of a dead girl eating out of the pitying hand of humanity.   
  
She made up her mind.  
  
"I don't care," she murmured to herself. Her voice was filled with so many feelings-anger, anticipation, and hope. "I don't care anymore. I want to be human. It is my choice." With a sigh she glanced about the room. "Grandfather, you always believed in me. I know you would be proud if you saw me now." A pensive pause, a pause plagued by ancient sorrow and woe. "Leave me alone, Dorothy. I'm no longer your ghost. May your soul find peace now that I no longer choice to walk in your footsteps."  
  
To be continued......   



	2. Mannequines

  
  
Mannequins ~ By Fujin  
  
  
Chapter 2  
  
  
When Roger woke up to Dorothy playing the piano in the parlor he groaned, momentarily hiding his face in his pillows. So far she showed no sign of change. Roger sighed, not that he disliked her playing but the thought of waiting for Dorothy to act more human seemed a little more harder to achieve than he previously thought so. Now it seemed to him like a long journey in the Arctic then a pleasant stroll in the park. Well a game was a game. And a mission was a mission. He couldn't give up on her so soon. She just got the books last night. Time would be needed to have Dorothy act like her own person. He would just have to be patient though it was secretly killing him inside.  
  
"I guess I was blinded by my own ambition," he yawned to himself, sitting up in his bed. "Well I can't back out now. Still I wish she would play another song for me to wake up to."  
  
With that the languid negotiator rolled out of bed and proceeded to go along with the morning as usual. He first when to his office though. Moving back the chair, he sat down and gathered a pen and a black journal, not yet used. He rolled the slender pen between his thumb and forefinger as he looked down at the opened book before him. How should he begin?  
  
January 5,  
  
I gave Dorothy a couple of books last night in hopes that she might realize how to act more like a human without mimicking Norman or I. I believe she has finishing reading most of the works I have her. They were just some works on men of science and the human body. I hope she will take them into consideration and follow their theories. So far I have seen no change in her. She still woke me up at 10:00 by playing the piano. From what I think she still must have more time.  
  
Roger put his pen down and though for a moment, pressing the tip of his pen to his lips.  
  
I will give her more books and will continue to keep track of her behavior. She is a great interest to me. This is a great step forward for me to understand her logical mind path as an android.  
  
Roger Smith  
  
  
He was finished. Putting down his pen, he gathered the ledger in his hand, looking over the neatly written words that were running the width of the paper in neat rows. He had to frown. What he had put on the paper was far from the truth that was in his heart. Dorothy was more than just a great interest to him. He had forgotten to put that she intrigued him. That he could look at her all day and not become bored. That all day everyday she was on his mind. He wanted to understand her more basically not her robotic side-the side that choose her likes and dislikes. What made her happy. What bothered her. Why didn't he put that?  
  
"This is a scientific log," he told himself, closing the book and placing it safely in a drawer. His voice was heavy with ridge discipline. "Not a romantic diary."  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
"Good morning, Roger," Dorothy told him, not even looking up from the piano as she continued to play for a minute more. Her voice was calm and collected as always and that made him frown. Since she was an android, she never looked as if she had a rough night. Each morning she woke up prepared and ready to face a new day. Roger, on the other hand, had to have two strong cups of coffee and a nice shower to be so geared up.  
  
"Morning, Dorothy," he murmured from the doorway of the parlor. He was drinking a cup of coffee and still clothed in his dark pajamas. His hair was far from neat. "Did you sleep well?" It was a shot to carry a human conversation. Though Roger inwardly wanted to smack himself. Why did he have to sound so bloody obvious? Maybe she wouldn't notice how bazaar the question was.  
  
Dorothy glanced over at him, her small white fingers still playing the piano. "Roger, you knew very well that I don't sleep," she told him. "Or what you call 'sleep' anyway."  
  
Roger forced a shrug to cover his curiosity. "Don't you mimic us?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then why don't you pretend to sleep?"  
  
"I've never seen a human sleep," she replied, her voice cool. "I don't know where to begin if I choose to pretend a sleep."  
  
He had to except her answer, knowing that he could learn nothing else from her. He knew that she had read the books last night, had a hunch so to speak, but he didn't want to bring it up so distinctly. Dorothy might become unnerved. She still needed time to adjust though Roger could tell that it would take longer than he had previously. With a sigh, he moved away from the doorway, sipping the rest of his coffee.  
  
He shouldn't rush her. Eventually Dorothy would become human more or less. Anyway he'd better report that in the log and be done with the deed.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
Norman heard humming as he walked down the hallway to the parlor. Sweet and charming humming, as soft of a breeze in the summer time. Immediately he grew alarmed. He paused for a moment, holding his breath to catch the mysterious tones that swam through the air. For a second he thought that something in the basement must have sprung a leak to produce such a soft, purring sound. He turned around, deciding that it must have been coming from under him, but stopped for a second time. The sound was behind him. Becoming confused now, he turned back around and the humming was there to greet him.  
  
"Something must be wrong in the parlor," he murmured to himself. "The radiator must have leakage. I should get that fixed before master Roger comes home."  
  
With a sigh, he placed what he had in his hands on a nearby desk. Even though his employer was not duo for home for several hours, Norman never walked away from a broken pipe or something that needed to be fixed. As a butler is job was to keep Roger's house perfectly clean and flawless no matter wait. He walked to the parlor, wanting to get a first-hand look at where the leak was and how extent was the damage. Then he would fix it, knowing every little detail of the problem. If he wanted to win the war it was better that he fully understand his enemy.  
  
He was unexpected to see Dorothy there was well. He paused for a moment in the threshold to see her dust shelving in the far corner of the room. She cleaned as always but seemed unaware to the leak and the humming sound that was obviously coming from somewhere near her. Surely her ears could pick up the sound.  
  
"Dorothy?"  
  
The humming stopped.  
  
"Yes, Norman?" she asked, turning around to face him.  
  
He cocked his head to a side and listened. He heard nothing. What in the world was going on? First there was humming. Then it stopped almost as mysteriously as if had begun. Was his hearing playing tricks on him?  
  
Dorothy saw his strange reaction. Norman stood in the doorway without speaking with his head at an angle as though he were trying to hear something. She put the duster down on the shelf, confusion passing through her dark eyes. Had he heard her humming? Indeed she knew that it was strange of her to be doing so, but one book she read last night said that whenever one was bored one should hum a familiar tune. Well she hadn't known any familiar tunes and she just hummed a listless melody. Had Norman heard her and was curious of the sound? She whole-hearted hoped not.  
  
"What is wrong, Norman?" she asked.  
  
"It's nothing, Miss Dorothy," the butler replied. Still he did not let up is awkward stance. "I just thought our radiator in here broke a pipe. Didn't you hear a buzzing sound a minute ago?"  
  
Dorothy felt like laughing with joy, so great was her relief. Indeed he had heard her but was obviously befuddled about it. She couldn't blame him. Dorothy quickly controlled the uplifting feeling behind a cold mask before it had to chance to escape and said in a normal voice, "It wasn't the radiator, Norman."  
  
"Really? Then what was it? I thought to fix it before Master Roger comes home tonight."  
  
"I was humming," she replied.  
  
Norman stared at her. She saw the puzzlement in his eyes but wasn't offended by it. Then he seemed to break out of his spell. She smiled a little and blushed, looking down at her idle hands for a moment.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Dorothy," he explained, his voice stuttering and surprised. "I didn't know. You have never hummed before...I'm sorry...I wasn't thinking...I'm sorry, Miss Dorothy."  
  
She didn't give in to her urge to laugh because she knew it would hurt his feelings. Laughing, she noticed, even though it was stimulating it could crush a human quite easily. She didn't want to do that to Norman. It was obviously just a minor mistake and nothing more.   
  
"It's all right, Norman," she told him, trying to put some sincerity into her voice that would ease his discomfort. "I don't mind. I've never hummed before. It probably was...horrible."  
  
"Oh, you did it wonderfully," he replied quickly. "I just didn't know what to make of the sound. It has been a long while since I last heard some one hum. I was caught off guard."  
  
Norman saw her smile. It was a small one but so genuine and full of innocence. He had forgotten what a smile look like. It had been so long since the last time he had ever since someone smile. It was...inspiring and he soon caught himself smiling back at her. If he ever thought Dorothy wasn't acting like herself, the notion never came to him. He was glad for her, glad for the change in her. It made her most enduring.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Dorothy," he told her again after a moment. "You were doing something before I came. I'll leave you now." With a little bow, Norman turned to leave.  
  
"Norman."  
  
Her voice stopped him. He turned around just in time to see Dorothy put the duster in her belt and walk towards him.  
  
"I'm done with the dusting here," she told him. "May I help you in the kitchen?"  
  
He felt himself smile down at her. He automatically held out his elbow for her to grasp before he even knew what he was doing. "I'd be honor, Miss Dorothy."   
  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
He knew the mission failed. Miserably. All day Dorothy acted as she always had acted before. Robotic and cold. Roger was learning to come to terms with disappointed. He at least hoped that she would show a spark of character or human emotion but that seemed an impossible wish. When that didn't happen he knew he had risked too much on the game, placed too much value in those books. Besides how could the books tell a robot how to act more of a human? It was back to ground zero again. It seemed such a waste to Roger. He wanted Dorothy to act human. More than he should have. When he left for work later that day, his mood was a black as night and mind obsessed with the losing end of the deal. Not even reminding himself that it was only one day didn't seem to help his disposition.  
  
  
He didn't tell anyone he was leaving. Her knew Norman was busy in the kitchen and he saw Dorothy dusting in the parlor. As he made for the door he stole a sideways glance at her. He should have kept his eyes to himself. What he saw made in frown with immense disappointment. Dorothy was dusting so apathetically, her movements precise and mechanical while a thick silence was hanging about her. She looked downright bored.   
  
Work passed as it always had and before long he realized it was time for him to go home he went with a heavy sigh. He had completed no work that day, or at least work to be proud of. His mind was endlessly occupied with ways to teach Dorothy to be more human. Should he give her more books to study, more time? Would a movie do a thing? So of course there was no room for work.   
  
The drove home was silent as he sped along the rode to his house. He didn't know what to do. Go along with it seemed to work for him. He couldn't believe that Dorothy had read all those books and still acted as if she was made out of metal. He knew that there was an intelligent brain inside of her. He just wanted it to show.   
  
He took a longer route to get to his house. He needed to be a little bit more in control when he would be at his house. He needed to clear his head from all the pointless worrying that he was torturing himself with. He needed to relax. A nice drive home would have made his nerves settle if it had not been for his restless spirit raging inside of him. His mind refused to leave him any peace. He kept wondering about Dorothy. Odd, he thought he actually might care for her a little bit more than he initially thought he did. If he didn't, why was his thoughts consumed by her face?  
  
It was all very confusing. And being confused didn't set well with the negotiator. It made him frown like the devil and made his attitude all the more unapproachable. He hated being stranded at a crossroads. He just hoped that he didn't run in to Norman when he got home. He wasn't in the mood to explain his tardiness and thoughtlessness in calling. Most of all he was hoping he didn't run into Dorothy.  
  
Roger was an hour late coming home that night. It was 1:00 in the morning when she heard him pull his car up into the driveway and into the garage. Usually he came home at midnight and sat down to eat dinner with her while Norman served them. And if he were going to be late he would call Norman. He was usually thoughtful. Dorothy was strangely nervous ad worried when no one called at 12:30. So was Norman but he didn't voice his concern, only saying that he would stay up to make sure Roger made it home. Dorothy made him change in mind, saying she would be the one who waited. Norman was hesitant, but gave in to his exhaustion and her demand, going to his room after cleaning the kitchen.  
  
She waited in the parlor for Roger. She sat in the darkness, neither bothering with a lamp or a fire to keep her metal body warm, on a couch in her black nightgown. She thought the scene was made for a depressing movie and a horror film, so comical and ironic was the picture. She looked at a widow mourning over a lost husband or a girl about ready to be attacked by a ghost from behind her. She might have laughed a little too but she was too nervous. Her fingers trembled a bit to her confusion. Shook so much that she dared not to turn on a lamp for fear of knocking it over. She wanted to be as quiet as possible.  
  
She couldn't understand why she was so tense in the first place. But she knew it had something to do with Roger. He would usually call home if he intended to be late. When the time passed and he didn't Dorothy had only one thought in mind. He was in trouble. Her first thought was to find him and help him but it was a reckless notion. He could take care of himself. He was a strong and healthy man.  
  
Who was just as handsome.  
  
Dorothy wanted to smack herself for her thoughts of Roger. But they had a mind of their own and forced her to face reality. Of course she found Roger Smith handsome but he was mostly a careless louse and given to be rude and proud at times. A complete imbecile through and through.   
  
But he was also gentle and determined. Dorothy had to give him that with a frown. And along with his good looks came a very comely smile. After the final battle of the MegaDuses, she had to tend to his shot wound. He was bleeding a lot and losing his strength quickly but he was determined to fight. With her assistance he could control Big O, bringing down the enemies. Afterwards, her hands shook as she helped stopped the blood coming from his wound by holding a piece of her dark skirt to the open hole in his arm.  
  
He couldn't help but see her fear. Before she saw him, he placed the back of his cold hand on to her face. She was surprised but didn't move away from his touch. She didn't look at him either.  
  
"Hey," he murmured softly, stroking her face gently. "It's all right, Dorothy. I won't die but you just have to stop the bleeding. Press down as hard as you can to clog the blood flow. You can do it." A pause as his hand gently wiped away a fallen tear. "I trust you."  
  
Dorothy finally looked at him. Her expression was unguarded and she knew he saw the pain and fear in her eyes because he placed his other hand on hers and squeezed. His smile, though small, was enough to make her stop breathing for a moment. Good Lord, he was a beautiful man!  
  
"If you die on me, Roger Smith," she whispered to him. Her voice still trembled but only a little bit. "I'll have 'louse' written on your grave."  
  
After that, she did her best to stop the bleeding.  
  
The sound of an approaching car pulled her from her thoughts. She quickly stood to her feet and hurried to a window that overlooked the street below, pulling back the black curtains. In the shadows, she was a glimpse of Roger walking away from the garage under her and tread quickly to the front door. She couldn't see his expression so she had no idea what he was thinking or what his mood was. But she could definitely see the tension in his shoulders.   
  
He must have had a rough day at work.   
  
Roger had no idea she was there. He closed the front door behind him, locked it, and then laid his keys on a small table nearest to him. With a heavy sigh, he removed his black jacket and loosed his tie that had been choking him all day before taking it completely off as well. He placed his jacket on the hall tree and rubbed the knots out of the back of his neck, unbuttoning his skirt a bit at the same time. He doubted he was going to get any sleep tonight. He was so tense.  
  
Putting his hand in the pockets of his dark slacks, Roger strolled into the parlor. He didn't bother turning on a light thought. As long as the furniture had not been rearranged he could find his way easily in the dark. So far no one was up. He was glad. Maybe he could get into his room without Norman or Dorothy bugging him.  
  
He put too much hope on that thought.  
  
There was a little bar in the corner of the parlor. He fled to it immediately. He didn't drink a whole lot but tonight, after a hellish day, his raw nerves craved it. He didn't care what he drunk just as long as it could numb all his pains and worries. After pouring a small quantity into a tiny glass he threw back his head and swallowed the liquor in one fast gulp, slamming the glass back down on the bar. He clenched his teeth together as the bitter drink slid down his throat, burning his stomach, but it certainly hit the spot. He was pouring himself a not glass of the same drink, this time in a large glass, when he raised his eyes to a mirror and saw a ghost behind him.  
  
Roger's first reaction was calm shock, bringing icy streams of alarm swimming through his hot blood. But the feeling quickly gave away into nothing when he realized it was only Dorothy who stood there. He didn't have anything to be worried about so he finished pouring his drink, took a sip of it, before turning around to face her. He saw her distaste over his drinking thought she didn't openly show it. But he knew she must have been disgusted. It wasn't every day that she saw him like this. He should have been appalled too.  
  
"Roger." Her voice was heavy with calm control.   
  
"What?"  
  
"You're late."  
  
He glanced at his watched and nodded, taking another drink of the liquor. "Seems that way."  
  
"You usually would call if you were staying later than 12:00," she replied.  
  
"Well I didn't want to," he shot back. His voice was angrier then he had wanted it to be. He saw her initial surprise as she took a tiny step back, her hands hiding in the folds of her nightgown. With a sigh he recognized his exasperation and slowly sat down his glass. He ran his hand through his hair testily. "I'm sorry, Dorothy. I've put in a hellish day."  
  
She only nodded, regaining the step she had lost.  
  
"Where is Norman?" he asked after a moment, trying to ease the tension between them. He didn't look at her, but stared down at his drink.  
  
"Sleeping. He needed his rest," she told him. "So I stayed up to wait for you."  
  
He smiled a bit, though out of amusement. "I can take care of myself, Dorothy," he murmuring, drinking a bit more. "I don't need you staying up, waiting for me."  
  
Dorothy rolled her black eyes. "Tell that to Norman. He was worried sick about you because you didn't call."  
  
"Yet, you are the one here with me now?"  
  
"He was exhausted."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"He thought that you were in trouble," she lied.  
  
"If he was so worried he could have contacted me in my car," Roger told her.  
  
"I didn't know how," she admitted after a moment of silence.  
  
Roger looked at her, dumbfounded at her words. But she wouldn't look at him as she stared down at the floor. Her hands where tight fist at her side as she clung to her dark nightgown. He couldn't see her face well because the darkness clouded it like a veil.  
  
"You were the one worried about me?" Surely he had heard her wrong.  
  
He saw her faint nod.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you are an arrogant, pig-headed man, who thinks only of himself before others," she told him. Her voice shook with anger that puzzled him all the more. "I care for you, yes, but I have no idea why. You should have called and saved me from a whole lot of worrying. How hard is it for you to pick up a phone and say that you weren't coming home tonight a little later and say that you were well? If it was hard then you are just as lazy and careless as a pig. I was so nervous and terrified that you might have been hurt or attacked. Big O isn't fixed to fight a battle for another day or so. Why would have happen to you if you needed it? You could have been hurt terribly, you louse. And Norman and I would have no idea!"  
  
His sweet and controlled Dorothy was so carried away by her anger that she didn't even her him approach. Her head was bent down so that her angry words were hurled to the floor. Only when he wrapped him arms about her slender form that she finally stopped condemning him to look up at him, face drained of all color. He felt her stop shaking all most immediately. Roger saw the tears and the pain in her eyes and Dorothy made no attempt to hide her emotions. He was sorry that he had been the one to have done this to her. Gently as possible, he raised his hand and slowly wiped her tears away.  
  
"Roger..." she whispered in a dead murmur as she stared up at him.   
  
Her met her gaze and said with a smile, "You were getting carried away, Dorothy...I don't want you to cry."  
  
She all but stared at him, her black eyes burning holes into his. "It's your own good fault, Roger Smith. You stubbornness and unintelligent arrogance made this change in me."  
  
He laughed a little, earning a dark frown from her.  
  
"Why are you holding me like this?" She sounded a bit breathless to him. Her dark eyes glanced down and saw his arms wrapped tightly about her waist while his hands spanned her back.  
  
"I want to ask you something," Roger replied. His voice was as soft as the silk covers on her bed.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
He bit his lower lip as he straightened his shoulders. "Were you truthful when you said that you cared about me, Dorothy?"  
  
He saw her blush and he could only stare in wonder.  
  
"You know I would never lie...What are you doing?" There was outrage in her voice was she felt him stroke her burning cheek as though he didn't know what to make of her flesh. She fought the urge to slap his hand away. The indecent louse! Did he actually thought he could touch her so affectionately even though he had been on his way to become drunk!?  
  
"I've never seen you blush," he whispered to her. His gently whispered answer took all the rage out of her.  
  
"Oh..." This made her blush all the more. She stared at him in silence; his eyes were seducing her own. They were standing all to close, she noted. Their faces were only inches apart and she could even smell the liquor on Roger's breath. Her blush grew even more when she noticed at her bosom was well nestled against his hard chest. She felt his hand on her back slowly move up her spine and cradle the back of her neck. Immediately a chill went through her, down to her toes.   
  
Dorothy knew that she was allowing Roger too much liberty but wasn't she taking just as much from him? As he held her, her hands were on his hard arms. With nothing but a thin white shirt to clothe his flesh from her palms, she felt the hard muscles under her fingertips, reacting and tightening under her feather-light tough. She could feel his power. But he was being so gentle with her that she couldn't believe his amazing strength lying underneath his appearance. His hands were so soft as he massaged her stiff neck. His warm touch was soon seducing her to want more but she couldn't pull away. Even if she had wanted him to let go of her, she knew her voice wouldn't comply.   
  
"Will you let me go, Roger?" Her voice sounded like a whisper dying to be a scream.  
  
"No."  
  
She looked into his eyes and saw the playfulness in his dark eyes. She didn't know that to make of it. She was speechless for a moment as she stared up at him. Too shocked at his denial to be angry.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I want to kiss you."  
  
"Kiss me....?"   
  
"Yeah," he drawled out before lowering his face to hers. He brushed his lips softly against hers. He felt her tense a little in his embrace but all he had to do was whisper that she was safe to get her to relax. For a few moments the kiss remained light and fragile as Dorothy absentmindedly wrapped her slender arms about his neck to hold on tight. But all too soon disciple seemed to wither and vanished as the kiss developed and grew passionate. He kissed Dorothy for a few more moments but when he heard her soft whimper and felt her pull him closer to her he had to pull away, breathless and in a daze.  
  
In the silence of the room, he didn't talk as he stared down at her. He didn't think he could if his life depended up it. He noted that Dorothy looked as he felt, in a dreamy stupor. She didn't look like she was even was breathing and her cheeks were still flushed. Truth be told, their kiss was all but settling. He smiled a bit as he looked down at her.  
  
She slowly blinked. "That was...." She began in a small voice, "a surprise."   
  
His smile turned into a grin. "I would guess that you liked it."  
  
"I would guess that you are as arrogant as ever," she replied, frowning at him but with gleaming eyes, silently telling him that she didn't mean her scowl.   
  
He stroked her face again, amazed at how soft and warm it felt against his fingertip. She leaned into his gentle caressing, closing her eyes and purring. She clasped his hand in both of her and slowly rubbed her check against the back of his fingers.   
  
After a moment she opened her eyes and stared up at him, lips still rosy and swollen from the kiss. Her gaze was almost seductive when she said in a husky voice, "But it certainly won't kill me if you kissed me for a second time."  
  
He caught the devious tone in he voice and raised an eyebrow. "Meaning...."   
  
Before he could react, Dorothy placed her hand on the side of his face and drew him close to her. She kissed him with the sincerity and passion that captured his heart but left him immediately breathless and hungry for more. He had to wrap his arms around her waist for fear of falling down, light-headed and dizzy as he was as he pulled her thin body tight against his. Dorothy must have had the same fear because she held on to his neck and didn't let go. After a moment she was the one to pull away, laughing and smiled at his expression over the enthusiastic kiss.   
  
Roger shared her smile, knowing full well how much he was falling in love with her.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Norman heard their laughter and offered a nod of approval. Standing on the stairwell, he had heard and he couldn't have been more proud or happy. But he knew he was invading their privacy and after a moment, turned to go back to his room.  
  
"It was about time," he said with a chuckle.  
  
  
To be continued.....  



	3. Manneqiunes

  
  
  
~ Mannequins ~   
By Fujin  
  
  
Chapter 3  
  
  
Loving Roger, the dark clothed negotiator, gave Dorothy's heart wings to fly. It   
was all the encouragement and support she needed to develop her personality all the more   
and let her restrictions go. She was a beautiful butterfly learning to spread her   
magnificent wing of crystal and gold under the watch of another. Knowing that she had   
his love, she felt more secure, that it was all right to try to please him with a smile and a   
softly whispered giggle at supper. Dorothy did want to please Roger, much to her   
unacquainted confusion. She knew he was pleased with her when she smiled, so she did   
it as often as she could; and she knew that he was satisfied when he heard her humming,   
so she hummed a pointless tune whenever she was tickled by the melody. With Roger   
love, she felt like she could so anything and always end up pleasing him. As the days   
passes she grew bolder in her experiments.  
  
"Dorothy?"  
  
"Yes, Roger?" She looked over at him from across the long table.   
  
Before he continued, Roger watched her for a moment, his eyes still as dark at   
midnight. Dorothy made a face, her brow wrinkling with bafflement, as a deep crimson   
blush swept across her snow-white cheeks. He looked as if he could stare her all night   
and still not become bored. She looked down at her plate of food; most of it was gone.   
She was learning more and more to eat her dinner even though she couldn't taste it.   
  
Roger still didn't say a word. Did he forget what he was going to say? That made   
Dorothy smile to the tabletop. Roger was never at a loss for words. She had learned that a   
long time ago. Words were needed in his profession. Words were crucial to him. The   
rights words could persuade; the wrong words can condemn. Still when he continued his   
tirade, Dorothy came undone with confusion.  
  
She looked back up at him, planing to ask if he was all right. But the words and   
her good intention were shamefully lodged in her throat. Lord, he was such a handsome   
louse. Just looking at him, his dark eyes glazing at her as though looking at her soul,   
made her knees go weak. Thankfully she was sitting down. It was a strange feeling, but   
Dorothy trusted Roger. He said it was a normal feeling, perfectly all right to feel and to   
have. He said it was…love. Did she love him? Yes, even she herself admitted that to him.  
  
That night she had confronted him about the feeling…love…she found him alone   
in his study. Good. Then she knew she couldn't resist the urge to tell him what she was   
feeling. The room was barely lightened, save the glow of a small lamp on Roger's desk,   
so she was in the shadows when she walked quietly into his room and closed the door   
behind her. Roger was busy writing something in a book, work no doubt, to look up at   
her immediately. So she waited, her beck pressed against t the door and her hands locked   
together behind her back. Even though she knew that Rule #3 was never to disturb him   
when he was in his study she didn't think she was going against the dictum. Roger could   
never turn her away.   
  
"What is it, Dorothy?" Roger finally asked, looking up at her as he put the book   
away. He leaned back in his chair and strength, closing his eyes.  
  
She felt light-headed then, so light-headed that she though she would fall to the   
ground. She leaned more against the door, craving for its reliable support. She   
remembered the night when he had kissed her. He held her in his arms while Dorothy's   
palms praised his hard muscles in his arms and gentle touch as he stroked her face. She   
loved the feel of him. And that's why seeing him stretch took her breath away. He had   
such a magnificent build.  
  
"Dorothy."  
  
"Huh?" Good Lord, she was so flushed that she had forgotten why she was in here   
in the first place. The humiliation all but caused her cheeks to brighten all the more. And   
it was all Roger Smith's doing!  
  
He flashed a smile, looking quiet amused at her stupefaction and gestured for her   
to take a chair before his desk. Even though she didn't trust her legs for her life, she   
moved quickly to sit down, thinking that it was better than standing. Once she was sitting,   
Roger moved to the corner where a tiny bar stood in the shadows. She watched him, still   
in a daze. He started to pour something into a glass and immediately stated, "Your   
turning into a drunk, Roger Smith."  
  
His warm chuckle warmed her heart but she could have smacked herself. Lord, he   
was turning her mind into pudding. But she doubted that he knew that he was the cause of   
her sudden muddle.  
  
"This is not for me. Rather I believe you are in need of a drink."  
  
"I don't drink alcohol," she quickly countered.  
  
He turned around and smiled. "It's just water," she said, smiling as he handed her   
the cool glass.  
  
"Oh...thank you." She took the glass and quickly drained it, or at least half of it,   
before placing it on the desk before her.  
  
He smiled again down at her and moved away. But he didn't sit down. No, he   
walked to the fireplace and started to stack some logs in the black mouth. She watched   
him. What was he doing now? Did he know how warm it was in his study?  
  
"What are you doing, Roger?"  
  
"What's it look like?"  
  
"You are making a fire. But why are you making a fire?"  
  
"You looked cold."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Your hands were shaking when I handed you that glass."  
  
"They were?" Dorothy quickly shot a glare at her hands, indeed they were   
trembling something fierce. With a frown, she curled her hands into fists and hid them in   
her nightgown's long black skirt.  
  
"Yes," Roger replied, amusement in his voice. "They were."  
  
"I'm not cold. Please stop toying with the logs. I need to talk to you." She   
couldn't keep the agitation from her voice. "It is a very important matter I wish to   
confront you about."  
  
"All right, Dorothy," he replied, climbing to his feet and leaning against the   
hearth. Her crossed his arms over his chest and looked at her. "I'm all ears."  
  
"That's a horrid expression," she scolded with a face of disgust.  
  
He smiled at her. "What is the important matter you wished to discuss with me,   
Dorothy?"  
  
She turned around in her seat, giving him her back, before she said, "As you can   
tell, when I've been around you lately I become…addled and uncertain of things." She   
glanced back to see if he was listening to her. When she saw him nod she continued,   
"Even though I don't believe I'm capable of becoming sick I do believe I am, Roger. And   
you should know that I think you are the cause of it all."  
  
"What are your symptoms?"  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"What are your symptoms?" he patiently restated.  
  
"Oh…For instance whenever I think of you I get…butterflies in my stomach.   
Then I become light-headed and forget what I'm doing. When I see you my heart beat   
picks up and I feel so dizzy, like I'm going to fall down after spinning around and   
suddenly stopping to stand still. I get lonely when you are not around and when you are   
around I become happy and sing. Does this make any sense to you, Roger? I think I'm   
sick. Maybe I'm dying."  
  
"Don't say that." The cold anger in his voice so startled her that she forgot, once   
more, what she was talking about.  
  
"Say what?"  
  
"That you are dying. That isn't possible. I won't let you die."  
  
Dorothy thought that was so nice of him to say that and quickly thought to   
appease his anger. "Thank you," she murmured with nothing else to say. Then she   
immediately shook her head and added, "Then I'm sick. It is not logical to feel this way."  
  
"Don't say that either," Roger order. "You are perfectly fine."  
  
"None of your books give me any answers," she remarked him, looking at him   
over her shoulder. "But since you say I'll perfect fine do you know why I'm feeling this   
way?"  
  
Dorothy saw him nod before pulling himself away from the fireplace to stand   
behind her. She sighed softly when he placed his hands on hers shoulders, this thumbs   
gently rubbing her blades.  
  
"Then what is it?" She sounded breathless.  
  
"You are in love."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"You are in love," he told her once more. "Dorothy, maybe there is something   
wrong with you. Most of what I say I have to repeat again. I think your hearing it going."  
  
"That's not funny," she scolded, hearing the laughter in his husky voice. "You   
just took me by surprise. I'm not deaf."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You do try someone's patience, Roger Smith."  
  
He laughed again and squeezed her shoulder in an affectionate gesture. Dorothy   
sighed again and before she knew it reached up and clasped one of her hands around his.   
They didn't speak for a little while but after a moment, however, Roger returned them to   
the subject.   
  
"Why were you surprised that I said you were in love?"  
  
She shrugged. "I didn't know I was capable of that emotion."  
  
"Are you disappointed?"  
  
"Disappointed about what?"  
  
"That you are in love."  
  
Dorothy visibly winced at the vulnerability she recognized in Roger's voice.   
Surely he couldn't…no, that was impossible, wasn't it? How could he? Dorothy took a   
deep breath and whispered, "I am not."  
  
His hold on her shoulder's immediately relaxed. "It is perfectly normal to feel all   
the things you feel, Dorothy. It's normal to be in love but just as long as your love is   
meant for me."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"Do you love me, Dorothy?"  
  
She would have fallen flat on her backside if she had been standing up, so faint   
she had suddenly become. She couldn't think, couldn't remember what he had asked her   
for a moment. Her stomach began to flutter as it had many times before and she had to   
close her eyes for a moment to regain her control, taking in deep breathes to steady her   
nerves. It was so unlike her to lose herself so quickly. But thanks to Roger, she was   
losing herself more and more. She should have been furious with him. But she wasn't.  
  
"I believe I am in love with you Roger," she whispered to him after a moment.   
"Why else would I be feeling the way I do around you."   
  
The element of surprise was on Roger's side however, for one moment she was   
sitting and the next she was in his arms. He looked down at her, his dark eyes bright with   
such a sigh that chill ran up and down her spine. A lock of dark hair had fallen over his   
pale brow and his soft lips were parted. He looked such like a handsome devil Dorothy   
couldn't resist the urge to run her fingers over his bottom lip, then up his cheek to his   
brow to push back the toppled black tress away from his skin.  
  
"I don't think you know what power you have over me, Roger," she whispered to   
him, his face inches from hers.  
  
His arrogant smile made it hard to breathe. "I think I do, miss Dorothy," he told   
her before he added, "You do please me."  
  
She made a weak attempt to smile at him. "Thank you."  
  
Roger ran a hand across her cheek gently and grinned when he saw her close her   
eyes and lean into his touch. Before she opened them, he bent down to place a kiss on her   
red lips. Then Dorothy couldn't think at all.  
  
Dorothy sighed over the memory; her eyes had a dreamy look to them, when   
Roger's impatient cough disrupted her fanciful thoughts.  
  
"Dorothy."  
  
She all but glare at him. "What it is, Roger? I had been waiting for you to   
continue but it seemed that you had forgotten what you wanted to say to me."  
  
"I didn't forgot," he told her with a frown.  
  
"Then what is it that you wish to tell me?" she asked, sweetly baited her long dark   
lashes at him. With a smile, she noticed that Roger couldn't resist her quick-witted charm   
and he promptly forgot to say what he had in mind for a moment. She laughed, pulling   
Roger from his daze.  
  
"You are wanton, Dorothy," he told her, smile overcoming his frown. "Utterly   
wanton."  
  
Even though it was crude to call a gentle lady wanton, his open teasing made her   
made her beam with hauteur and smile at the more. No, she wasn't angry at all. In fact it   
made her feel very human to be teased, just like when she hummed or smiled. It felt so   
human to do those things.  
  
"You are the one who I always call a louse," she quietly reminded him.   
"Compared to you I'm merely a coquette."  
  
Roger smiled at her, and with fork in hand, pointed it across the table to her, at her   
fingers. "Coquette or not, Dorothy, you are still a member my of my household. Have   
you all ready forgotten Rule #1 to wear black and only black at all times? Where did you   
get that paint on your fingernails?"  
  
"You don't like it?" she asked, self-consciously raised her blood-red painted nails   
to her eyes. "The color matched my hair."  
  
"I'd like it if the coloring was black," Roger told her.  
  
"I like it red," she argued, look at him through her lashes. "The woman said it   
looked good on me."  
  
"What woman?"  
  
Dorothy gave him a look that suggested he was as slow as a cow. "The woman at   
the shop that I bought it at, Roger," she said slowly for his sake. "I told her it must be   
black but she said I already had too much black on. She said I'd look as if I were   
attending a funeral if I got the color in black."  
  
"Take it off."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"Take it off."  
  
She was suddenly at a loose for words. Envious she glared at him. How can a   
mere human have all the right words to saw while an android had trouble finding them at   
the moment? It was so unfair. "But…why?" So confused was she, that she didn't have   
time or the sense to remove the hurt and perplexity from her voice before she spoke. She   
winced at her own flawed voice.  
  
"Because it is not black," he told her.  
  
"But…but…I like it." That was such a feeble attempt to defend herself. "I only   
wanted to please you." She said that lost part so softly she doubted that his ears would   
pick up her comment.  
  
"So what if you like it? Dorothy, if I only just one slip go under my nose then all   
chaos would come. Do you understand? You still have to follow the rules. Even I do. I   
follow all of them."  
  
"You have a brown jacket in your wardrobe, Roger," she told him. This time her   
voice was like ice, hard and controlled, as it had been before when she had no concept of   
human emotion. "And what of that?"  
  
"I need that on cases, Dorothy," he told her, trying to keep his voice mild.   
"Besides I don't need to explain myself on your behalf."  
  
Dorothy shot him a glance that could have made any other man's blood run cold.   
"Do you have a phobia of the color red? Does red remind you of something? It reminds   
me of blood, of pain. Why do you think my fathers made my hair red? So that every time   
I look at myself in a mirror I see blood and remember how my people have died because   
of me? I hate the color red, I really do. I don't even bleed yet I still see it when I see   
red…"  
  
"Stop that foolish talk this instant, Dorothy," Roger all but shouted out at her. She   
wasn't offended though. She merely looked at him and stood up. Inside however even she   
was appalled by her words. What she had said had really managed to unnerve her. Was   
this the inner self of her being talking? She didn't want to know. It frightened her.  
  
With a little bow, she whispered, "I will no longer ware anything else but black,   
sir. Please forgive my transgression. I know I have displeased you."  
  
"Dorothy," he called for her as she left the dinning room. But she acted as if she   
hadn't heard him, as if she were deaf to the world. He watched her go and when she was   
out of the room, he finally bowed down to his anger. He slammed his fist onto the   
tabletop, overturning a vase of flowers.  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Jan 23,  
  
Dorothy has become far more expressive with her feelings. She smiles more often   
and sings when she is alone. She has accomplished in picking up happier melodies on the   
piano and I am relieved to wake up on the happier note in the morning. She has a hatred   
for the color red. I was surprised at that. Until tonight I didn't know she was capable of   
hating anything. But I know now. And I know she must hate me. But hatred builds   
character for her. So I will do nothing to suppress her hatred.  
  
Recently her experiments have become bolder. She is expressing herself more   
clearly. She in more human now that she was when I first saw her. I can only be patient   
and see where her newfound self takes me. I am most curious. This can't continue   
forever. One day she will be completely human, in her mind set at least. Then I won't   
have any need of her.  
  
Roger Smith  
~*~*~*~  
  
  
If she knew how to weep she would have been in hysterics by now. Still learning   
the works of the eye, only tears came further to slid down her pale cheeks. She sat idle   
before the roaring fireplace in her room, the smell of burning fingernail polish making   
her nose tremble but she didn't move. Long before the crimson color was wiped away   
from her nails and the bottle thrown into the fire in a fury of anger. In a daze she watched   
the hungry fire struggle to devour the small bottle, hypnotized by the ravenous light and   
awesome heat.  
  
Roger still didn't come for her. She wanted to weep and throttle him at the same   
time. He knew he had hurt her with his words, why did he come to beg forgiveness? Was   
he angry with her also? What had she done? She merely spoke her mind, results in being   
that she creeped both of them out by her words. She should have said nothing and did   
what he commanded her to do. But did he want her to speak her mind? First he said it   
was right for her speak her mind, then he turned right back around and said it was wrong.   
She was so confused. What did that man want from her? She only wanted to please him  
  
The clock stroke 1:00 in the morning when her door opened a crack and in   
popped Norman's head. He, no doubt, had been recently asleep. She wasn't startled at his   
sudden appearance or the way he looked in on her without knocking. He however was.   
When he saw her form sitting in front of the fireplace after his eyes had roamed about the   
rest of the room, his cheeks became red and he stuttered an apology.   
  
"Do forgive me, Miss Dorothy," he told her. "I didn't know that you were up…I   
was on my way to the kitchen when I spent something burning…I was curious   
and…afraid when I noticed it was coming from your room…I didn't know that you were   
up or else I would have knocked."  
  
"It's all right," she replied, looking back at the fire. "Sorry I woke you. I was just   
burning my fingernail polish."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"I was burning my fingernail polish," she repeated. "I bought it in the color of red.   
But Roger doesn't like it. I can't wear it anymore, it serves no purpose, so I'm getting rid   
of it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"It's red," she replied, her voice emotionless. "Not black."  
  
"Oh…um…I don't think that burning it is the safest thing to do with it…Dorothy,   
are you crying?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I'm sad."  
  
"I could tell that, dear," Norman gently told her. "But why are you crying?"  
  
"Roger hurt me."  
  
Norman frowned. He should have thought about that. Norman knew something   
had happen in the dining room while he was in the kitchen. Roger was in a foul mood and   
Dorothy was unusually shut up in her room for the remainder of the night when she had   
been staying in the parlor reading or playing that piano for the last two weeks. He wanted   
to confront Roger about it but knew it was too personal.  
  
"May I ask why he hurt you?"  
  
"I spoke my mind at dinner. Then he told me not to. All week he has been telling   
me that I should voice my opinions when I did it scared me. I'm so confused now. I only   
wanted to please him."  
  
"May I be of any help, Miss Dorothy? I hate to see you in such a state. You are   
like a daughter to me and I care greatly for your well-being." Inwardly he thought that   
she shouldn't please anyone with the exception of herself. Roger didn't, he hated to   
admit, know what pleasing someone meant even if it came up and kicked him in his rear   
end.  
  
Dorothy rubbed her tears away. "No thank you, Norman," she whispered.   
"Talking to you has made me feel much better. I thank you for your listening." It was a   
lie though, a terrible lie that made her feel all the more sad and lonely at heart. Talking   
about all her troubles made her relive all the petulance and pain again.  
  
"All right then," Norman said, pulling back his head. "I be sure to bring you up   
some left over chocolate cake from desert. Will that be all right with you?"  
  
Dorothy didn't have the heart to refuse his kind offer by saying no. Though she   
could discern chocolate from dirt she said that would be lovely and waited patiently for   
him to close the door before burying her hands to cry.   
  
Norman heard her in the hallway. With a frown he tossed aside the notion on   
getting the cake and decided to retrieve something that would make Dorothy feel much   
better than food. He went after Master Roger. Taking in mind that refusal was not   
acceptable. Roger broke her heart and he would see to it that Roger mend it.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
She was still crying when Roger opened her door. She was such in a sorrowful   
state, that she didn't even hear her door open or the quiet steps that passed over the dark   
threshold of the doorway. With her face buried in her knees and her legs pressed against   
her slender form, she was all but there. Her mind had taken her to a place of deep remorse   
and hurt she doubted if she could ever return to the earthy plane.  
  
Dorothy was miserable; miserable because of Roger; miserable because she knew   
that she no longer had his love; miserable that Norman didn't even remember to return to   
her. Was she that unimportant? That notion made her want to cry all over again but she   
didn't have strength too. Her head pounded as if someone were taking a hammer to her   
skull and she was so tired, her eyes painfully throbbed because she had been crying for so   
long. Her throat ached because of the urge she to scream she constantly held in. She just   
wanted to go to bed, hid in the satin sheets and go to sleep and never wake up. She would   
be safe in her bed, safe from the demons that haunted her mind, safe from Roger and his   
horrible love. Look what he had did to her! Before nothing could faze her; she was   
strong! Now a curt word passed to her and she was sobbing like a baby deprived of its   
mother. She was disgusting, lonely…human. For an instant she wished she still continued   
to act like an android. At lest then nothing could hurt her the way Roger was able to hurt   
her now.  
  
Still it pained her to know that if she still were an android she wouldn't be able to   
enjoy life the way she could now. She could discern soft things from rough things; satin   
sheets from dry firewood. She could be lifted up by a blithe melody and she could feel   
the grace of dancing when she spun around in wide circles as carefree as a child. But with   
the good came the bad. Words had the power to hurt her more, touches could invoke pain   
and discomfort, anger and lust, looks to tear a man down, rendering him weak against the   
cruel world of monsters.   
  
But she had never thought of the downside of it all. She was just concerned in   
pleasing Roger and herself, so concerned that she didn't to see the bad. And when she   
had Roger love, she knew that whenever the bad came, he would be there beside her,   
helping her in anyway he could. He was Dorothy's support, without him she would easily   
crumple to the floor, a forgot mess to be left alone in the darkness. She was without him   
now and she knew that she was a mess, a vulnerable mess. She was an easy target to   
monsters.  
  
"Roger, you have made me weak," she whispered softly. Staring into the fire, she   
did see the shadow by the door stiffen. "I hate you. I hate being human. I hate myself."  
  
"I don't hate you." The deep voice had spoken so suddenly that Dorothy visibly   
jumped with fright. Wide-eyed her sight shot to her doorway and she clung to her legs.  
  
"Who's there?" she demanded, voice quivering from fear and tears.  
  
"It's me," a voice said before a shadow moved into the warm glow of the fire.   
"Roger."  
  
She immediately turned her nose up at the sight of him and looked away, freeing   
her legs so that she could wipe the tears away from her eyes and face. She would not give   
him the satisfaction of seeing her cry like a simpleton. Roger stood where he was for a   
moment before walking closer to her, his movements slow and graceful.  
  
"Stop!" she ordered, one hand shooting out to stop him form coming any further.   
"Don't come any closer."  
  
"Why?" She could tell that the angry order had surprised him.  
  
"Because you will get a shoe thrown at you or I might at well kill you, Roger   
Smith," she replied. "If you valued your life, you stupid man, you would stay put or   
leave. Come any closer, you will be a reckless man."  
  
"So I'm stupid and reckless an I?" She didn't see his smile.  
  
"Not just that but arrogant, crude, mean, and a playboy," Dorothy shot out.   
  
"Dorothy, it is passed midnight," he told her, tired rubbing his faces with his   
hands. "I have no times for your games."  
  
"Games! Fine then leave!" she screamed at him. "Go away, you bothersome   
louse. So sorry that my problems bore you and make you tired. Please leave immediately   
or I'll throw you out. I never wanted you in my room to begin with. You crept in here as   
sneaky as a ghost. Leave."  
  
"I can't," Roger told her quietly.   
  
"Why?"  
  
"Norman threatened to paint Big O pink if I didn't help you," he answered.  
  
"So your just here out of pride," Dorothy murmured. "How like you. I can't   
believe I loved you."  
  
"Loved me?" Roger seemed genuinely shocked. "You mean you don't any   
more?"  
  
"My love in my love. I can decide who I love and how and when," she told him,   
her voice turned into haughty fire. "It's my decision and I don't love you anymore,   
Roger."  
  
"You shouldn't do that, Dorothy," he told her. "If your love moves so quickly, if a   
word or and action makes your love more so, your love is hollow, skin-deep. You'll   
cheapen yourself if you do it that why."  
  
"But, Roger, it that that way of your game?" she innocently asked. "The rule you   
go by? You go from woman to woman. You never stay with them long. As unsteady as   
wind your affection is."  
  
"I've never loved them, Dorothy," he told her in a whisper.   
  
She looked at him, her eyes turning from steel to satin in an instant. "Never?"  
  
"Never. Don't you trust me?"  
  
"I trust you," she answered before she could stop the words. "But I don't know   
why."  
  
"Blind faith?"  
  
"I doubt it, Roger. I'm more intelligent than that."  
  
"Why don't you love me anymore?" she was unprepared for the change of topics,   
unprepared for the hurt she heard in his voice. He confused her. What was he trying to   
do? Make her daft. "I still love you," he told her.  
  
"I…"Dorothy had never been so enervated. She didn't know what to say. She   
glanced cautiously at him, fearing to see him because if she did she knew she couldn't lie   
to him. His magnificent eyes would compel a savage criminal to tell the truth. His eyes   
locked onto hers, pulling her to him. She couldn't look away. He had her.  
  
"I still love you, Roger," she whisper, her voice hardly audible. "But the truth is   
that I want to throttle you at the moment."  
  
"Why?" he asked, continuing to stand.  
  
"Because…" Tears came into her blood-shot eyes, brimming over the edge to roll   
down her pale cheeks. As if in a daze, she looked away, all her hurt and pain etched onto   
her face. He was there by her side in a matter of second. One moment he was looming   
over her the next he was on his knees behind her, wrapping her arms about her shoulders   
and hauling her against his chest. Where in the world did he learn to move?  
  
"Because what?" he murmured into her ear as a slender finger brushed away her   
teardrops.  
  
"Because…because you hurt me, Roger…I only wanted to please you."  
  
"You do please me," he told her, his voice fervent. So strong was his conviction   
that she didn't doubt him. "Are you talking about what happened at dinner?"  
  
She nodded. "I just wanted to be a normal human girl," she confessed. "I thought   
you would he happy with my efforts. I'm trying to understand everything, all at once. I   
though…I thought it would help me."  
  
"Dorothy…" he sighed against her ear. His warm breath made her shudder. "You   
will never be a normal human girl."  
  
"I won't?"  
  
"No, you are too beautiful and perfect," he murmured, pressing his lips against   
her white neck. "Humans have flaws but you don't."  
  
"I do too, Roger," he argued. "I have two. Unlike you I'm not afraid to admit that   
I do have flaws."  
  
"What is the first one?"  
  
"You."  
  
He laughed, a warm husky sound that made her want to kiss him.  
  
"Whenever I'm around you you bring out the worst in me," she told him. "But   
you also manage to bring out the good. When I'm around you I feel so lovesick it's   
pathetic." She felt him smile against her throat.  
  
"What is the second one, Dorothy."  
  
"I…I scare myself," she softly murmured. "What I said about the color red at the   
dinner table really scared me. I shouldn't have said anything. It was terrible of me too."  
  
"You were only speaking your mind."  
  
"You said it was foolish talk," she corrected him.  
  
"I was angry, Dorothy. I say absurd things when I'm angry. I didn't mean to upset   
you. Really, I had no intention."  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Don't you trust me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm sorry I made you so upset about the paint," he continued. "I'm so use to have   
everyone follow my orders I didn't think that you were trying to express yourself."  
  
"It's my fault," she said. "I just wanted to feel…pretty I suppose. It was different   
with it on my fingers. I just wanted to know what would feel like…"  
  
"Sweetheart, you are already pretty," he replied, turning her head to a side so that   
he could kiss her face. Dorothy immediately blushed but kissed him back immediately.  
  
"Do you love me, Roger?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," he told her. "Do you love me?"  
  
"Yes. Are you still mad at me?"  
  
He shook his head. She sighed and relaxed, leaning into his embrace all the more.   
"Thank you," she whispered.  
  
"Any time."  
  
His laid-back attitude made her smile. She closed her eyes and rested the back of   
her head against his shoulder. She sighed once more when she felt one of Roger's arms   
wrap tightly around her middle, his hand spanning the gentle flare of her hip, the other   
arm held her shoulders. His touch sent chills up and down her spine but his loving   
embrace warmed her. She didn't open her eyes when he leaned down to place a kiss on   
her lips.   
  
"You are so sweet," he murmured as his lips trailed from her mouth to her chin   
and then her neck.   
  
She sighed, her hands moving up to play with his hair. She felt so light-hearted   
and loved in his arms, so safe and wanted. She never felt happier. Yes, loving Roger did   
give her heart wings.  



End file.
